


if moscow is forever, where's your home sweet home?

by orphan_account



Category: Football RPF
Genre: FIFA World Cup 2018, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 18:53:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15540750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Luka Modrić plays at the World Cup final.





	if moscow is forever, where's your home sweet home?

**Author's Note:**

> title is a play on the lyric ''if texas is forever, where's your home sweet home?'' by pierce the veil.

I. 

Luka looks up, sees clear sky with only a few clouds drifting about. Sun will be up in an hour, hour and a half. There's morning dew clinging to the grass, the air feels humid. His vision is blurred, eyes wet but he's not crying. Why are his eyes wet? Luka tigthens his grip on the ball he's holding and takes another step. The pitch feels like home. The tiredness feels like comfort. Pushing yourself harder feels like something he was born to do. 

Everything is still blurry, blurry, blurry. Will the sun come up today? 

\- 

They played extra time two times in a row, penalties two times in a row. So what? In these past few weeks there were many times when Luka barely got out of bed, but he got out. Moving hurts, walking hurts, playing football hurts. He came here to win. It hurts. So what? 

They look tired in more ways than human language can describe. There's something to be said about how all of them stick to their sleeping schedule now, how they listen to everything the medical staff tells them to do, how there hasn't been one beer bottle found in any of their rooms in days. 

Nothing makes it easier. He talks to Ivan about it. Is it wrong he doesn't want to talk to his family on the phone anymore? The kids don't call, Vanja doesn't let them, but she calls. Luka is tired, always tired. Ivan says it's okay. He says he doesn't even know where his phone is anymore. They don't sleep on separate sides of the bed now. 

There's a cross pendant on his necklace. He grips it when the pain gets excruciating. It digs into his palm. 

\- 

Whenever they get scored on first, Luka wants the entire world to stop so they can compose themselves. It doesn't work that way. Luckily, their fate in this World Cup seems to be coming back. They showed they've got skill, they've got spirit, they've got the hunger. It's their time now. Luka and his guys will bring their country the victory. The trophy, it doesn't mean a thing. The victorious feeling, the pride, it's everything. This is _their_ game and they're taking it now. 

Perišić and Mandžukić tell England, _No, you're coming home._

\- 

Ivan and him lie on their backs on the bed that night, eyes closed but conversation filling up the room. Luka likes to talk about the game after it ends. It calms him down and it grounds him, lets him know that this really happened and his sick brain didn't just dream it all up. They're in the final of the World Cup. Ivan is more than happy to reassure him that, yes, this is their reality. 

Their hands are brushing against each other and it makes Luka almost mad. Why can't he just hold his damn hand? Luka thinks about this often. When he misses Ivan, Luka doesn't call, he doesn't text. He thinks about Ivan's eyes, eyes of a good man, a man of many virtues and, in Luka's opinion, no flaws. Even when they fight, Luka knows Ivan is always right but he still riles him up. Luka is not a good man like Ivan is. His flaws may not be the worst thing in the world but he has them. He's fine with that. 

II. 

July 15th, 2018. Luka wakes up to his alarm furiously reminding him that it's time to start his day. The sun is filling up the room already, promise of a sunny day and fair weather. He feels almost dizzy with both excitement and fear; it's now or never. Ivan is still fast asleep next to him, white sheets covering his naked body. Luka doesn't know how he can sleep through such noise. Still, he turns the alarm off. 

Luka goes into the bathroom and starts the shower, peels off his boxers and stands under the hot water. It burns a little but it wakes him up properly. He stays under the spray for longer than maybe he should have. Then he sees Ivan's silhouette crowding the door frame. 

''You want in?'' Luka asks. 

\- 

Trying to go through the day acting like this is not one of the most important days of their careers, their _lives_ is harder than Luka expected. He's dutifully reminded by Zlatko that one of his captainly duties is most certainly staying calm and collected under pressure while simultaneously trying to make your teammates feel the same. He tries his best and he knows it's no use. Everyone is nervous and ready to snap at any moment. 

When it's time to suit up for the game, Luka's hands start shaking. He barely ties his own shoelaces. This feeling is as foreign to him as it is to everyone else. None of them every experienced playing in a match of such importance on an international level. Club success is one thing but patriotism is a whole other game. 

The checkered jerseys cling to their skin, already sweaty with anticipation. They shed their victorious black (and blue) uniforms, it's time for the world to see the red and white again, the black brought them enough luck already. The last few seconds before the game starts feel like torture. Luka's heart is hammering in his chest. The whistle blows. Whom will the gods favor today? 

\- 

Luka is not stupid, he knows who the French are and how they play; he doesn't even think about underestimating them for a second. But, he also knows his guys and he knows they can pull this through, they've got that wind behind their backs, fueled by the support of, what feels like, the entire world. They start off the game decent, dominating the possession, with the ball staying mostly in France's half. 

Then, fucking Griezmann happens. Luka knows it, the entire world sees it and Griezmann still has the guts for it. The free kick shouldn't have happened, yet it almost feels like it sealed their destiny, made them lose their momentum and discouraged them. This isn't the first time they got scored on first, but it was an own goal and it's the _World Cup final._ It feels like their bones are breaking under pressure. Perišić proves himself a world class player once again when he brings the equalizer for Croatia. 

Through a sick twist of fate, he's also kind of responsible for France's second goal. The call the referee made is something Luka hopes will be remembered as one of the biggest mistakes of international football. Half time is 2-1, courtesy of, of fucking course, Griezmann. 

The locker room is wild, everyone is screaming, there are ten thousand voices in Luka's head alone but there's Ivan's hand on his shoulder. His face is so wet he doesn't even know if it's just sweat or tears, too. They've worked so hard for this, it can't end now. The adrenaline pumping through his veins gives him enough bravado to swear to his teammates that they're bringing home the gold. 

He grips his cross necklace tightly one last time before he prepares for second half. 

\- 

Pogba. Six minutes later, Mbappé. Four minutes later, Mandžukić. Twenty one minutes later, silver adorning Luka's neck. He wins the Golden Ball and they make him take photos with it. He doesn't care about individual accomplishments, this… this accessory they've given him. He can't even smile. He doesn't feel anything and therefore can't express any emotion, it's that simple. His mind is a constant loop of _How does Zlatko feel now? Did we disappoint Croatia? Where is Ivan? What could I have done better? I hope Perišić and Mandžukić aren't blaming themselves. Will anyone dare blame it on Subašić? Where? Is? Ivan?_

It starts raining and it's cold and he's shivering and he's all alone in the world. Who will ever know what this felt like? There's an unknown voice strangling Luka's throat. What if it cries out? 

\- 

When they finally manage to get on the bus back to the hotel, Luka feels as though the cold rain settled on his skin for good. He feels constant shivers running down his spine and he can't handle even the thought of someone touching him right now. Ivan sits next to him and he doesn't say anything because he knows that Luka can't talk right now, he doesn't even try to initiate any contact and for some reason, that thoughtfulness almost makes Luka cry again. Ivan just looks straight ahead, focused on the road in front of them. This small silence between them feels like home, so small compared to the roar of their teammates that's filling up the bus. In Luka's mind, maybe tomorrow they'll be winners but today, they're surely not. 

They come back to their room, the day is over, their skin is pressed against one another and Luka's necklace is on the bedside table. 

III. 

Luka's dreams that night are violent. There's a fire and it's spreading and he can't escape. No one is coming to get him. Whenever he tries to move, he gets caught on fire and it's burning, burning, burning, eating up his skin. Luka screams and looks up to the sky and prays for death to grab a hold of him already. 

\- 

Ivan is shaking Luka's shoulder, awakening him quickly. Luka feels distressed for a second, lost enough to barely even recognize where he is. His can't even see properly, everything is blurry, all he can discern is the sun fiercely protruding through the blinds. It's going to be a hot one. 

''I thought you would wake up on your own by now, God. Grab this,'' Ivan throws a pair of jeans and a shirt at him as he himself is already fully dressed and even his hair looks good, he definitely styled it, ''and get dressed, we'll be late.'' 

What's going on? Luka checks his phone and sees it's barely past 8am. Their flight isn't for a few more hours, there really isn't any reason for that kind of rushing. He voices his thoughts to Ivan who just gives him a look of pure confusion and shakes his head. Luka absent-mindedly grabs his necklace. Why is it on his neck? 

''Flight, what flight? Anyways, get out of bed already. The rest of the guys are probably waiting for us downstairs.'' 

Luka grabs the clothes and rushes to the bathroom to grab a quick shower but he leaves the door open so he can scream-talk with Ivan. ''Where exactly are we going?'' he says. The water is hot, so comfortingly hot. Luka goes to grab the shampoo but he remembers he tossed that in the trash yesterday, it was empty. Today though, here it is again, and when Luka grabs it with shaky hands, he can tell there's enough product left for him to use it one more time. A shiver crawls down his spine. 

Ivan walks into the bathroom and yells back, ''Zlatko says we'll be talking about some strategies and whatnot. Personally, I think he'll try to give us one of those inspirational speeches about how we're winners already. It's bullshit. We can fucking beat the French.'' 

Luka drops the shampoo bottle. ''We already lost to the French,'' he yells back, frozen in place. 

''Since when are you so pessimistic? And get out already,'' Ivan mutters back and leaves the bathroom. Luka does get out, rushing for his phone. He taps it awake. 

It's right there, written on the screen. July 15th, 2018. 

\- 

Everyone is acting so normal and it's pissing Luka off because he's panicking. He feels like there's a constant lack of air in his lungs and there's this disgusting feeling of having experienced all of this already that's clawing at the back of his brain. 

At 8am, he goes with Ivan to the team meeting. At 9am, they have breakfast. At 1pm, he fights with Ivan about something stupid, so pointless he already forgot what it even was about. He did all of this already, yesterday. What is he supposed to do now? He doesn't know what's going on and time feels somehow tangible. He tells Ivan about his reality, he tells him about the final game and its result and Ivan just shakes his head, says Luka dreamed it all last night. 

At 6pm they make him play the French again. Luka's eyes cannot focus. It surely must be the end of the world. Why is the sky not falling down yet? 

\- 

When Luka starts playing, it's like there's a shift in time and space. He's running and passing the ball and trying to think of a way to make them score and then, it finally starts feeling real. This is it, final of the World Cup. He gets excited and hopeful and just like yesterday, afraid too. He passes the ball to Ivan who scores in the 8th minute and Luka doesn't even have time to acknowledge this blissfull accomplishment before Brozović nets an absolute beauty just 10 minutes later and Luka screams so loud he thinks he definitely lost his voice now. 

Halftime sees them leading 2-0 and Luka thinks this is what it is, their second chance. The universe is bending and breaking itself to help them take what's rightfully theirs. They come back to the pitch for the second half feeling almost victorious and definitely a little cocky. They know half of their job here is done; if they can defend this lead, it's their game. Their offensive chances are cut in half by themselves, they don't need them right now. Instead they try to contain the French. 

Mbappé ends up scoring and so what? They didn't shut the French down but they can deal with this, they'll take a 2-1 finish. It starts raining with 20 minutes left on the clock. At first it's a slight drizzle but then it becomes a little more vicious and Luka's vision is blurred again and he realizes he's exhausted. He sees Zlatko eyeing him down, he wants to take him out. The clock is ticking. Luka isn't going anywhere. 

The French score again, Griezmann delivering. Ten minutes left and it reeks of another possible extra time. Then, in a matter of a second, Mbappé is in front of the goal with a clear aim, no one is even close enough to cover him. He scores again. Something in Luka's brain explodes. Maybe it's the rain crushing Luka's skull. Did they really lose again? Is this real? He looks up and sees sun hiding behind a cloud, ready to shine again. Can history repeat itself? 

IV. 

Coming back to the same hotel room, _again_ , is torture. Luka barely walks in before he takes all of his clothes off, necklace and wedding band too, feeling like all of it is suffocating him. Ivan does the same and silently follows him into the shower. There are no words left in Luka's throat. He just tries to hide his eyes so Ivan can't see everything that's hiding in them – feelings of hurt, failure, blame, _sadness_. Ivan turns the shower on and Luka lets the water wash over him. He can always blame the tear trails on his face on the shower water. Ivan washes Luka's hair and Luka tries to stop his shoulders from shaking, he really does. 

What happens now? What happens tomorrow? 

\- 

Luka doesn't even remember falling asleep. He can feel the soft sheets hugging his body, Ivan's legs tangled with his. Luka untangles them immediately, he can't stand it when Ivan does that. Luka's limbs feel heavy, like it takes more effort to move them than just his brain commanding it. His necklace's cross pendant is digging into his chest and Luka grabs it, annoyed, seconds away from ripping it off. The sun is burning, the room feels like it's on fire with how hot it is inside. 

Luka jumps out of the bed, frantically searching for his phone. _Where is it, where is it, where is the damn thing-_

Luka is almost afraid to look at the screen, afraid it's going to tell him something he doesn't want to know. Still, he taps the phone awake. 

July 15th, 2018. 

Luka throws the phone at the wall. It shatters immediately after it drops to the floor, making enough noise to wake Ivan up. He sits up in the bed abruptly, a look of pure confusion and maybe even a little fear on his face. 

''Luka, what's wrong?'' he asks calmly, his voice sounding like both the sweetest melody and the last thing Luka wants to hear now. 

''Nothing,'' Luka hisses back. The venom in his voice is vicious and shouldn't be intended to attack Ivan. Luka can't control it, it feels like it belongs to another person's realm of control. Is he himself? 

''C'mon, man, come back to bed. It's – what time is it?'' He looks at the clock on the night stand, ''It's barely six-thirty. We can still sleep some more.'' Luka just shakes his head as he starts biting on his thumb nail. A disgusting habit that he absolutely has no time to think about now. ''I know you're nervous, so am I. But we need to be well rested for today.'' Ivan tries to reason with him. Luka dares to look back at him. His eyes are so kind. Luka gives in and climbs back into bed. Ivan strokes his arm gently. Luka moves away from him. He dreams of the fire again. This time, he surrenders to it immediately. 

\- 

When he wakes up again, he tells himself to just do his fucking job. World Cup final, third time's the charm – who will be the last pawns standing? 

\- 

At breakfast, Ivan gives him a neck squeeze, looks at him with these big worried eyes and asks if he's okay, says he looks really pale and skinny – has he been eating as he should? Luka moves away from his touch, tries to smile and says he's fine, really, he's just nervous. He knows Ivan doesn't buy it and he doesn't care. He doesn't have enough energy to think properly, his mind is focused on one thing and one thing only. Figure this out and be done with it. 

Half-way through breakfast, Luka starts feeling like he's choking. He coughs and coughs and runs away to the bathroom and coughs and- 

He swears to God it's ashes he coughs out. He doesn't tell anyone. The clock ticks. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Whose is the reflection in the mirror? 

\- 

When it's time to suit up for the game, Luka almost loses some of that hopelessness he's been feeling. If he's been through this twice before, surely he can use that to his advantage to figure out the French and fucking beat them this time. The thing is though – they don't play football. They wait it out, wait for their chances and capitalize on them. There's no finesse in anything they're doing – they're not creating their own plays, they're waiting for Croatia to make mistakes so they can use them to their advantage. It's always the same, still the same, Griezmann, Pogba, Mbappé. 

3-0. 

Fool me once, shame on you. 

Fool me twice, shame on me. 

Fool me three times- 

V. 

All the confusion, anger, disorientation he's been feeling turns into only one thing – determination. He almost prays to God that it happens again, prays that there's one more chance, just one more chance to do what he's come here to fucking do. Victory is awaiting and Luka is ready. 

\- 

He wakes up on time and he smiles. Ivan is far on the other side of the bed, his profile bathed in sunshine and he looks angelic. Luka doesn't even want to touch him. Why? Instead, he checks his phone. There's a few messages, all containing the same kind of content – wishing him good luck for the big game. His phone shows him one more important thing. July 15th, 2018. 

Luka starts a quick search around the room until he finds a piece of paper and a pen. He starts to write down all the things relating to the tactics of the French that popped into his mind numerous times throughout the night when he would wake up in cold sweat after another nightmare. His neck is itchy, feels as though the necklace is burning him, choking him. He takes it off. The burning feeling doesn't go away. 

\- 

Throughout the day, there's this stern look in his eyes. Dejan jokes, _Why so serious?_ Luka tries to smile at the joke. 

\- 

The moment he steps on the pitch, his focus sharpens. It's like all of his senses are intesified and in every moment he can tell where everyone is on the pitch, where the ball is and where it's supposed to be. His passes just keep connecting and they start the game off completely dominating France. It motivates him, motivates the entire team. They keep putting in the work and eventually it pays off. 

In the 22th minute, Mandžukić scores an absolute masterpiece of a header, ball hitting the back off the net just as Luka's heart skips a beat. This is it, this is where they're supposed to be in the game, leading in the first half. They keep effortlessly overpowering the French, wearing them out as much as possible in the process. 

Another goal comes in the 70th minute and it's his, he scores the fucking goal. The entire crowd is on their feet, roaring his name. He actually feels happiness for the first time in the past few days. The time keeps running out and nothing happens, nothing disrupts their lead. There's enough adrenaline pumping through his veins that he could carry the entire world on his shoulders right now, he knows it. 

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. 

Gold _is_ all that glitters. 

\- 

This time it had to be it. When Luka wakes up, it's to the sound of rain. _Rain._ There was no rain these past few times, only sun, only warmth, only burning. Ivan is just lying there next to him, eyes firmly closed, skin soft. Luka wants to touch him and he can't. 

That's fine. He will be able to, soon. 

The thunder strikes. Luka doesn't check the date. The necklace hangs from his neck. 

VI. 

_Do I dare_

_Disturb the universe?_

_In a minute there is time_

_For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse._

**Author's Note:**

> the last line is by t.s. eliot


End file.
